Concealed Carry
by Xx.Triple A.xX
Summary: Nate learns a difficult lesson about why you shouldn't tell someone you left your wallet at home when it's sticking out of your pocket in plain sight. Fortunately, Flynn is watching his back.


**Opening Authoressial Note (OAN): **And now we progress from Flynn Angst Fic to Bromance Fic. Haha, I am writing ALL THE ONESHOTS up in here. Plus this fandom has a lamentable lack of fic - I mean, only 7 pages? I object. And that's why I'm doing something about it.

Anyway, enjoy! :3

**Disclaimer:** If I owned Uncharted, those zombies would never ever have been a thing in Drake's Fortune. Ever.

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><p>The man was violently drunk, and violent in general, and demanding that Nathan Drake buy him another round of drinks. By the time Flynn looked up from the girls he was hitting on to see what his friend was up to, the man had Nate backed into a corner across the room. The younger treasure hunter was trying to laugh the incident off, holding up his hands in a non-threatening, slightly defensive gesture and his smile turned up to Most Charming.<p>

"Hey man, I-I'd like to help you out, but, y'know, I think I left my wallet back home. I'm not even here to drink, man, I'm just here to pick up some chicks."

"You're LYING!" the man roared as Nate's excuse filtered through to his alcohol-drenched consciousness. "I saw you drinking earlier! And your wallet's sticking out of your pocket!"

"I, uh," Nate stammered, looking suddenly panicked as he realized that his plan had failed. "Er, oops, sorry, I'm – um – I've got to go."

Seeking the path of least resistance, he tried to dart around the man and beat a hasty retreat. Despite the fact that Nate was not drunk and was therefore faster, the sheer size of his opponent made up for a lot of things that his intoxication was causing him to currently lack, such as intelligence (though it was dubious that he'd ever possessed that) and reflexes.

A clumsy grab made while Nate moved caught a fistful of shirt and caused him to end up being flung back into the wall. Before he could even slide back down the wall to the floor, the man was grabbing him again – with one hand. The other hand was in fist form, and planting itself firmly in Nate's stomach.

Nate made a noise consistent with just having been punched in the stomach, but nobody heard it over the blaring bar music. The man grabbed the treasure hunter by the hair and slammed his head into the wall once. He made to do it a second time, but instead chose to freeze in mid-motion, Nate hanging limp and stunned from his hand.

Harry Flynn was very British, and very proud of it. The British held a high standard of and regard for the concept and execution of fair play.

Harry Flynn did not. He especially did not when it came to large drunk men slamming his very best friend's head into a wall. Not to mention that there was no way he could take the brute down in single physical combat, and not to mention that he was _ticked_ off.

He cocked the pistol, pressing it a bit more firmly into the man's ear in an effort to get his point across more clearly. "I think you've had enough, mate."

The man dropped Nate, who fell the rest of the way to the floor with a startled yip followed by a pained groan once he'd hit it. "Y' can't shoot me!"

"_Oh_, yes I can," Flynn drawled. "Whether or not I can do it _legally_ is another question, but I can certainly shoot you, and if I ever see you _again_ I absolutely _will_, no hesitation involved." He wiggled the gun, causing the man to visibly flinch. "All I've got to do is point and click."

Nate sat up and shook his head, trying to get rid of the audible ringing noise that seemed to exist only inside his own brain. In between disoriented blinks, he noticed something.

"He's gone," he muttered, then saw Flynn standing nearby, hastily tucking something back underneath his jacket. "He's – he's gone," he repeated, louder this time.

"Who's gone, mate?" Flynn inquired, crouching down to help his friend back to his feet.

"Uh – there was this guy," Nate managed through an overwhelming attack of vertigo, Flynn calmly holding his shoulders to keep him upright. "He, uh, was smashed, and he wanted me to get him another drink. It was – it was lookin' kind of bad."

"Huh. One of the bouncers must have seen him and kicked him out," Flynn suggested. "Oh, come on, Nate. Here, sit down. You're wobbling all over the place." Pressing the brunette into a comfy chair, Flynn pointed at him. "Don't go anywhere. I'm gonna go get you a glass of water."

"Okay," Nate agreed, sinking into the chair like it could protect him from the thudding bass soundtrack that was speeding his growing headache along. "I'll just – wait a minute! Flynn!"

The Brit turned around. "What is it now?"

Nate pointed accusingly at the older man's waist. "Who brings a _gun_ into a _bar_?"

Flynn winked at him, entirely unfazed. "Someone with a concealed carry permit, doll. Now shut up and stay put."

He sauntered off towards the bar, leaving Nate to cross his arms over his chest and stick his tongue out. "Nyeh. Like you could _get_ a concealed carry permit. …_Ow my head_. I hope that jerk asks the bartender for some aspirin…"

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><p><strong>A3:<strong> I'm only 19, so dang if I know if they play club music in bars or not. But they do in this bar! (Clings to creative license)

I'm having a lot of fun with these, heh. Do please drop a review telling me your thoughts, and if you want more! Though you're probably gonna get more regardless :P


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